Is this what writers do?
Conjure the worst then set you there, contorting
to listen for the beauty that sings in suffering?
Your boiling body fights, trembling
and next to you in darkness, brooding
I see the struggling and the worst
and imagine  your beauty

as a memory that enters a room
full of mourners-
sunlit breeze captured
in billowing fabric
which turning and holding
you there for a moment
lets you go
as the tears and the chatter
go on

Jan 2021

They came to me in
a febrile dream.
Whispered screams and
misshapen limbs.
They wanted to drag
me to the hell they
came from, but I fought,
and got well.

when I tell my mom I feel sick
the first thing she does
is kiss my forehead to see if I have a fever
and
I just feel like
there's a metaphor there somewhere

Further than ever
A promise to break
A river lit silver
A heart left to ache
To sink or to swim
To run or to stay
I’ll sleep through November
Awake me in May

I think the funny thing
It's not the
Staying in bed for days
Awake and then
Sleeping in few
Hour increments

(and certainly not the night I woke up at two
to the sound of the darkness
how I could hear it whispering my name
I didn't fall asleep until I saw the sun)

but
I think the funny thing
Is how even after days in bed
My every need passed over on a platter
(From six feet away)
Recovery is not a steep *****

Over a week, and I'm still hacking up phlegm
(I realize that's disgusting to picture
Trust me, tasting it is worse)

Oh, so I should be grateful
"It's not covid, so you're fine"
(Not that I got tested,
I have a sensitive nose
It bleeds very easily.
Decided it was safer to stay home)

"I'm sorry, but we have to cancel
Thanksgiving.... No, we don't think we're contagious, but we want to be sure.... Thank you for understanding!"

My sister was showing symptoms
The strep test was negative
A doctor says it was allergies

That's nice, but a 99.8
Isn't allergies

So yes
The funny thing
Is the recovery
But only because there doesn't seem to be any of it.

you’re every melody and every song
you’re the pounding in my head all night long
pounding, pounding all night long
bleary eyes and heavy cheeks
you’re the sore in my bones that make them meek
and every other week
another year come and gone, so long

the ringing in my ears
the salt in my tears,
tongue long against my face
catching them before they slip away
another race
down the roadway
to your doorframe
come 2nd place
but who’s to say
i kiss you anyway

Hello world
(coughs)
Tell me something
(clears throat)
Afraid of a little cold?
Tell 'em I'm not affected
Squeeze the checker harder
37 and going down temp.
No Sir, no admission now
Yet the whole squad passes through
Let my normal fever in
I assure no one will be sick tomorrow

(sneezes)
Emergency evacuation!
Residents, clear the floor
Nurses coming through
Catch a small fever with cold
We won't let your sick *** in here

Let go, it's obvious
Death is not painless, Sir

dead man's requiem,
how does god weep when he's laughing?
shadow puppet queen;
it hurts, doesn't it?
the grip of life loosening
rapidly, rapid fire...
welcome to the bullet feast.
Go outside and play with time now;
chess with the past,
checkers with the present,
poker with the future.
howl at the sun for a change;
smoke on some of that science if you think it'll save you––
eat names for breakfast.
break every mirror
that pities you,
water your houseplants
with holy water.
drink tea sap.
107.1°
Fever wolf.